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Book XI 
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0 










DELLA DmmiTT 


BECOT^ATIONS BY NORIMA. L .VIRGIN 



( 



She took the hahy and sat down with liim in her arms. 










/ 


THE 

STAIRWAY TO HAPPINESS 




The Story of a Christmas Eve 




BY 


ELLA DIMMITT 






Decorations Lrj 

NORMA L. VIRGIN 


^ The Little Book Press 
#-4^South Wabash Ave , 5th Floor 

CHICAGO 

1919 


Copyright 1919 
By della DIMMITT 



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OW, MAMSIE, I just will pull those wet 
rubbers off your poor, tired feet. Here ! 
stick them out. Why, there's a hole in 
the heel of this one, and you’ve tried to 
stop it with a wad of paper. O, you 
naughty Mamsie! not to have bought 
yourself new rubbers instead of the muf- 
fler you got me. Me wearing a muffler and you with a 
hole in your rubbers. O — oh, Mamsie!” 

‘‘Judith, you ridiculous child!” The offending rub- 
ber was whisked instantly out of sight. Divested of her 
moist outer garments by three pairs of willing, girlish 
hands, the indomitable figure of “Mamsie” straight- 
ened, showing in the lamplight’s glow not a trace of the 
weariness with which she had plodded home through 
the dark, slushy, illy lighted streets, not daring to use 
even the small price of a carfare. 

“Come, children,” — the voice was that of a girl, her- 
self — “let us see what Ellen has for our tea tonight.” 

“Same as last night and the night afore, Mamsie, 
dear,” the voice of Ellen, familiarly known as the 
“market-woman,” came blithely floating back from the 
dining room, where she had retired to light up, “tea and 
toast, the butter spread a little thinner just for the sake 
of variety. Would we dare buy a chicken — a very 
small one — Mamsie, for our Christmas dinner tomor- 
row?” 



7 


The Stairway to Happiness 


‘^No, dear/’ the full, round cheerfulness of Mamsie’s 
tone never wavered, ‘'you know we all agreed that this 
was to be a ‘penny Christmas,’ and we must abide by 
the articles.” 

“That’s all right, Mamsie,” as cheerfully responded 
the market-woman. “I just asked for information, that 
was all. There’s enough of the cold heart left over from 
Sunday’s dinner to serve another meal, and with some 
fresh dressing it will be delicious. 

“Want to hear what’s on the boards for tonight, 
Mamsie, dear? Well, we’re going to turn ourselves into 
real Christmas Waits first thing after supper and stroll 
through town singing carols on people’s doorsteps. That 
was Judith’s idea. Isn’t it clever? And we’re going to 
leave you to do the dishes all by your lone self, Mamsie. 
You haven’t had all the exercise that’s rightly coming 
to you down at that employment bureau wrestling with 
other folks’s servant girl problems for the munificent 
sum of a dollar a day, so we’re just going to let you 
wash all these dishes. After that, you may cuddle up 
by the fireplace in here and warm your toes and do ex- 
actly as you please all the rest of the time we’re gone; 
only do not go into the east room, where we’ve fixed the 
tree, and snip off all your presents to give to somebody 
else. 

“We, for our part, have sure lived up to the articles, 
for there isn’t a blessed thing on that tree or among any 
of the packages that Eastus carried round for us this 


8 


The Story of a Christmas Eve 


afternoon that cost more than a penny, and that’s a cer- 
tified fact, Mother Wait, that Judith Dabney, Ellen 
Maria and Eileen Mayo Wait can each affix her hand 
and seal thereto. But, Mamsie. Tm desperately afraid 
some of the dear people exchanging with us have not 
lived up to the agreement as they said they would. 

“Aunt Lucy Landis, for one, has sent a Tittle re- 
membrance’ in a great big bandbox affair, and some of 
the other packages are sizable and hefty, too.” 

“In that case,” and Mamsie’s face was gravity it- 
self, ‘‘I would advise the calliing in of a committee to 
appraise the gifts all round, and if by any chance some 
one’s offering exceeds your own in value, why, carry it 
back without delay and demand your own on the spot. 
Let us preserve our independence, though the heavens 
fall.” 

“But Mother” — a bright red spot burned in either of 
Judith’s smooth olive cheeks — “we girls don’t mind be- 
ing poor the least little bit in the world — it’s only being 
paupers that hurts.” 

“I understand, dear,” returned Mamsie, who, know- 
ing a better way, never argued with her daughters. 
“Now, wrap up warmly,” she admonished as the girls 
rose from the table, leaving her to finish her tea alone. 
“Put on your muffler, Judith, and don’t expose that 
precious throat, dear, more than you can help. 

“My charming Waits!” she exclaimed, as presently 
the gay group came flitting down the stairway. 


9 


The Stairway to Happiness 


cloaked for the street, their dainty heads all bound in 
bright scarfs. ‘‘What a sweet way you have chosen to 
usher in the Christmas joys. Now, give all our dear, 
dear friends your mother’s kindliest greeting and thank 
each one who has in any way contributed to our own 
Christmas. We can still, in spite of our changed cir- 
cumstances, afford to be gracious. Tell Miss Liza El- 
kins that I am promising myself the pleasure of a little 
visit with her tomorrow directly after dinner. She will 
understand why we cannot this year invite our friends 
to us. And say to Dr. Glidden that I wish him to ac- 
cept with my dearest love this gift in remembrance of 
your father. You are all willing, are you not, that I 
should part with it?” 

She had risen, as she spoke, from the meagrely fur- 
nished tea-table and drawn from a secret drawer in a 
man’s much worn desk, still filled with his unused pos- 
sessions, a packet wrapped in fine tissue paper, a watch 
it proved to be, a watch of magnificent workmanshii) 
and priceless, for it had been presented to the dead 
father of the girls by the medical association of his state, 
as the lines engraved on the inner lid of the watch read 
— '‘in token of appreciation for his distinguished ser- 
vice in behalf of suffering humanity.” 

“How sweet of you, mother — how sweet.” Judith’s 
voice was pointed with little, tender thrills. “May I 
carry it over?” 

With the departure of the girls the old house grew 


10 


The Story of a Christmas Eve 


strangely, oppressively quiet; but to the mother it was 
an intense relief to sink into the shabby, sheltering 
arms of the chair that had been her husband’s, and 
there alone, among the wavering shadows of the firelit 
room, with no solicitous young eyes on her, just be with- 
out dissimulation what in sad reality she was, only a 
tired, utterly dispirited woman with the battle of life 
going against her. Brooding was a costly luxury, but 
she gave herself up to it, and as the images of the old, 
bright dayswhen a strong arm had shielded her and 
her little brood from the rigors of a hard world without 
rose before her, tears forced themselves between the 
tightly closed eyelids. In the secrecy of her heart she 
was compelled to admit the sheer blank wall confront- 
ing her whichever way she turned. There was the mat- 
ter of the twins being kept in the Academy the remain- 
der of the year. The tuition she might, by dint of closer 
management yet, possibly provide for, but their gradua- 
tion gowns and other incidentals were beyond her power 
of obtaining. Then, there were Judith’s music lessons, 
so few remaining until the child could complete the 
course and measurably fit herself for teaching the art 
she so passionately loved ; but that, too, was not to be 
thought of. Already they were restricting themselves 
in the matter of living expenses to the barest necessi- 
ties. It had gone to her heart to deny Ellen’s unspoken 
wish in the matter of the Christmas dinner, but it had 
to be done. Silently, she lifted up her heart in a prayer 


11 


The Stairway to Happiness 


for sustaining grace and a yet larger human wisdom in 
meeting these and all emergencies. 

At the first sound of tripping feet she drew herself 
up, and as though by some magic seemed to become 
young and eager-eyed again. 

‘‘Oh, Mamsie,” the gay Waits, their cheeks flushed, 
their eyes sparkling and all speaking at once, burst in 
upon her, “such a time as we’ve had— such a wonder- 
ful — wonderful time! Why, you haven’t washed the 
dishes ! Girls ! she hasn’t washed the dishes, nor cleared 
the table!” And above the din rose Mamsie’s own 
blithe voice denying the charge of “mooning” and en- 
gaging to “do” the forgotten dishes twice next day by 
way of penance if only they might be allowed to stand 
tonight, since this was Christmas Eve. 

“Now, tell me all that happened.” Mamsie’s ex- 
pressive face shone with the light of anticipation; 
Mamsie’s voice quivered under the enchantment of the 
hour. Still as pretty as any of her girls, what a picture 
Mamsie made and what a Christmas Eve they were all 
having! 

“Now, don’t leave out a bit. I’m wild to know 
what everybody did and said. I know they must all 
have thought it bright and clever— a really beautiful 
thing— in you to turn yourselves into real Christmas 
Waits and come singing their festivities in. Where did 
you go first?” 

“Why, Mamsie, what a question! To Dr. Glidden’s, 


12 


The Story of a Christmas Eve 


of course, and when the dear, blessed old man came 
and softly opened his door and we could see him sitting 
there inside with his grand white head bowed, listening, 
with his hand up to his good ear, we just stole inside 
and made a little circle round him and sang him every 
one of our carols. Then, we presented him the watch, 
and he arose and made us a little speech. I don’t be- 
lieve any of us ever quite realized before — I am afraid 
we did not — what a perfectly splendid man our father 
was. But Dr. Glidden told us some things about him 
tonight. Mother, some things which he had done for 
folks — O, poor, suffering folks who could never pay him 
anything, you know — that made us feel very exalted and 
very humble, too. And then, Dr. Glidden just slipped 
father’s watch inside his pocket and said he would carry 
it, thinking ever of his great and good friend, Windom 
Wait, and hope that he, himself, might one day pass it 
back into our family again untarnished and with its 
usefulness unimpaired. Why, it was just as though. 
Mother, he were giving us some great and unspeakable 
gift instead of us giving him one.” 

“Any man can give, dear, but it takes a gentle- 
man to receive”~Mamsie’s voice thrilled— “so when the 
watch finally comes back into your hands its value will 
be enhanced by all the sacred and beautiful memories of 
the Christly minister who received both your father 
and mother into the church, married them, christened 
their three children and read the commitment service 


13 


The Stairway to Happiness 


over your father’s grave. The dear doctor! Well, 
where next?” 

‘‘To Miss Liza’s, and wc found her crying over 
Eileen’s letter calendar. She had just opened it be- 
cause she couldn’t wait any longer, and the poor old 
soul kept saying, ‘Three hundred and sixty-five letters ! 
three hundred and sixty-five letters, all for me. I can’t 
die this year. Eve simply got to keep alive until the 
last one of those letters is read.’ So then, we told her 
that the very last of all was the autograph letter from 
General Lee to great-aunt Sallie Withcutt on the eve 
of her marriage, and Miss Liza said, ‘Children, has Sal- 
lie Wait committed that treasure to my hands?’ And, 
mother, you’d have thought she held an empire’s crown 
jewels in her hands.” 

“O, I can well believe it,” tremulously responded 
Mrs. Wait, “for Miss Liza, then in her beautiful girl- 
hood, was bridesmaid to Aunt Sallie, and her own 
sweetheart was one of the General’s aides, and after his 
early, tragic death the General wrote Miss Liza a letter; 
but her letter was lost in the family’s flight that next 
year out of Petersburg. Yes, yes, — dear Miss Liza! I 
knew she would prize that letter above all earthly pos- 
sessions. And Mrs. French, poor lady, did you sing un- 
der her window?” 

“O, yes, Mamsie, and when we told them we want- 
ed to come once a week throughout the year and sing as 
our Christmas present to them, the Major followed us 


14 


The Story of a Christmas Eve 


outside to thank us and to whisper that this would be 
the most acceptable gift we could possibly have brought, 
that Mrs. French was always better for days after one 
of our little sings. 

“And O, Mainsie, old bed-ridden Mrs. Maynard was 
so happy over her portable window garden, gay in all 
those blossoms we had coaxed out under the window 
glass. And Aunt Lucy exclaimed and kept on exclaim- 
ing over Ellen’s sewing basket made out of the cheese 
box lacquered and lined with the flounce off my old 
pink dimity. Really, it did look handsome with those 
bands of brass beading tacked around it, and it just 
fitted into the jut in her bay window. And, O, every- 
body else was charmed, and it was such fun. Why, 
mother, it just seemed like we actually had more to give 
this year, when we thought the locusts had just about 
eaten us out of everything we possessed, than we ever 
had to give before. They all seemed to think that even 
if we hadn’t put money, we had put time and ingenuity 
and heaps of love, or, as Aunt Lucy Landis expressed 
it, we had put ourselves — the whole of ourselves — into 
our home-made presents. Why, it was beautiful — just 
beautiful, Mother, and we were so carried away by the 
spirit of it and feeling so sort of ‘Christmasy’ ourselves 
that we forgot everything about the bank breaking and 
us losing all the money we had in the world, and do you 
know what we’ve gone and done. Mother? Why, we 
told Miss Liza and Dr. Glidden and Major and Mrs. 


15 


The Stairway to Happiness 


French that we were expecting them all quite as usual 
for Christmas dinner tomorrow. We never meant to, 
Mother, truly we didn’t; but what else were we to say 
when every one of them said to us that they supposed 
they were to come as usual to us tomorrow. Whatever 
are we going to do about it, Mamsie?” 

“Do!” — Mamsie’s heart, it is true, gave one dis- 
mayed bound, but not for worlds and more worlds would 
she have let her girls know it. “Do ! why, we will make 
them all welcome, of course. We will set out our best 
china and my finest damask and the silver service that 
was your great- great grandmother’s, which has graced 
every like occasion all these years, and with Dr. Glid- 
den’s dear voice invoking God’s blessing upon us all, 
even warmed over heart will furnish a feast. Besides, I 
think there is a little of the quince marmalade left, and 
with some of Ellen’s milk biscuit I have no doubt but 
that we shall fare famously. 

“Now, let us have our tree, but first, if you are not 
too hoarse, sing just for me, “It Came Upon the Mid- 
night Clear.” 

Mamsie, seated at the old piano, touching the time- 
stained keys with light fingers, listened with straining 
heart for the lines : 

“And ye beneath life’s crushing load 
Whose forms are bending low. 

Who toil along the climbing way 
With painful steps and slow ; 


16 


The Story of a Christmas Eve 


Look now, for glad and golden hours 
Come swiftly on the wing, 

Oh, rest beside the weary road. 

And hear the angels sing!” 

The little, glimmering southern pine, soon relieved 
of its light burden of home gifts, stood in uncompromis- 
ing stiffness above the packages from outside acquaint- 
ances. 

Judith picked up the bandbox affair and handed 
it to her mother, saying with a little catch in her voice, 
‘‘I don’t care if there’s a town lot inside of this. Mother. 
If Dr. Glidden could receive father’s watch and Miss 
Liza Aunt Sallie’s letter in the spirit in which they were, 
both given, we are mighty poor in soul if we haven’t 
caught a little bit of their nobleness. Take off the lid, 
Mamsie.” 

But the bandbox, unwrapped, yielded nothing but a 
round footrest that stood apologetically on four wobbly 
screw legs, and some other articles crying loudly their 
home manufacture. Poor Aunt Lucy Landis had done 
her conscientious best, but even the girls could see that 
it had been the most dismal kind of failure. They stood 
in a little, hushed group, thinking remorsefully of what 
it must have cost this most generous of friends to have 
dispatched these poor contrivances. 

‘‘Oh, Mamsie,” exclaimed Judith contritely, “were- 
n’t we vulgar— weren’t we vulgar, though, to go around 


17 


The Stairway to Happiness 


telling folks that because we were poor they couldn’t 
l^ay anything for the presents they gave us?” 

‘‘Not vulgar, dear,” amended Mamsie, “only thought- 
less and a little unmindful of the rights of others who 
like to give as well as to receive.” 

They would not perhaps have admitted it, but there 
was a sense of disappointment, of something lacking, 
which even the cards and notes freighted with love and 
tender wishes could not altogether cover. Deeper than 
the dearth of gifts or the meagreness of such as were 
sent was the consciousness of pain inflicted on some 
whose friendship had made much of the sweetness of 
life to them all. 

But they were not left long to such reveries, for 
presently there broke a sound as of shuffling feet on the 
back gallery. Some colored person, doubtless, come 
to ask a donation for a Christmas festivity. Mamsie’s 
first regretful thought was that for the first and only 
time in her life she would be compelled to deny any such 
demand on her slender resources. 


18 


The Story of a Christmas Eve 


HEN it was that Judith upon opening the 
door, received the warm, soft little bun- 
dle being thrust unceremoniously upon 
her. Instinctively her arms closed round 
it. 

Those of her family within the inner 
room caught the drawling, honeyed voice, such as the 
southern negress alone of all the world possesses, saying, 
‘‘Tell Miss Sallie I done waited a mighty long time on 
them no ’count white folks whut neveh come back after 
this huh baby an’ I jes’ ’bleeged to git back home an’ 
change this ol’ dress an’ git on my good shoes. An’ say 
to Miss Sallie, chile, ef she’d be pleased to look after it 
till we all’s chu’ch Chris’mus suppah’s oveh. I’ll shore 
come back an’ rid huh of it. 

“ ’Pears like to me,” the same rich, warm voice 
went on, complainingly, “thet some folks is mighty keer- 
less o’ their chillen drappin’ ’em round fur we all to 
tend whut ain’t no kin to ’em a -tall.” 

Mrs. Wait came hastening to the door. 

‘^O, Sukey,” she broke in at once, “has no one from 
the Foundlings’ Home been over yet after that poor 
little mite?” 

“Why, of course I will keep the baby. You did per- 
fectly right to bring it over to me, only do not come 
back for it — not tonight, Sukey. I, myself, will see that 
it is cared for, this one night, at least.” 



19 


The Stairway to Happiness 


She closed the door on the already rapidly retreat- 
ing Snkey, whose thoughts were all centered on the 
church supper and her own proper adorning for that all- 
important function. 

Meanwhile, Judith had carried her unsought burden 
into the warmth and light of the living room, and was 
engaged in unswathing the coarse, soiled wrappings 
from about a plump and fuzzy-headed baby who fixed 
a pair of unwinking and very blue eyes upon her and 
continued steadily to regard her. 

“Howdy do?” inquired the object of this concen- 
trated scrutiny affably, while the other girls gathered 
round in laughing wonderment, all questioning at once, 
“Where did he come from, Mamsie?” “Is it a him or 
is he a her?’’ “O, isn’t he the darlingest thing ever?” 
“He’s ours to keep, isn’t he Mamsie?” 

In the midst of such rapid cross-fire of inquiries, 
piecemeal, such slight details as were known concerning 
the baby came out. He had been found; indeed, Mam- 
sie, herself, had picked him up that morning, having 
almost stepped upon the odd looking bundle wrapped 
about with a soiled gray blanket and thrust a short way 
within a dark alley through which she was hastening to 
reach the office on time. It appeared to be a simple 
case of child abandonment, although no trace of any 
person or persons leaving a child had as yet been found 
other than that a mover’s wagon, with tightly drawn 
cover, had been seen very early that morning in the 


20 


The Story of a Christmas Eve 


neighborhood of the alley into which the baby had been 
placed. 

The supposition was that these were the people who 
had cast off the child. There had been some talk of 
pursuing the wagon; but, or so Mamsie argued, the 
persons in the wagon had shown their unfitness for any 
responsibility on its behalf, parental or otherwise, by 
their heartless act of abandonment, and so she was in- 
clined to believe that no move had been made in the 
matter. At least, she hoped that none had been made. 
She said this with her eyes resting on the baby, think- 
ing how soft and tender a blue his eyes were, and think- 
ing, too, of the hardness of heart of any who could 
cast adrift, on a cold December morning, so small and 
helpless a creature. 

^‘What do you s’pose his name is, Mamsie? Could 
you make a guess just by looking at him?” suddenly 
asked Judith, transferring her interest from the unin- 
teresting matter of the baby’s guardians to the baby, 
itself, who still maintained a fixity of gaze as though he 
would determine what sort of strange creature this was 
with the vivid red cheeks and the very dark eyes who 
seemed to have appropriated him all to herself.” 

“I’ll tell you what he looks like,” said Ellen, her 
head turned critically to one side — “he looks — why, he 
looks for all the world like a chicken that’s just pipped 
the shell.” 

“I say, let’s call him Pip. 

21 


The Statkway to Happiness 


“Pip, Pip! O, yon clear, fuzzy-heaclecl Pip! 

“Mamsie, — I say, — Mamsie, can’t we keep Pip for 
onr very own?” 

“Yes, yes, Mamsie,” they one and all now chimed 
in, “do let ns keep him. 

“It won’t take any more to feed Pip than it does to 
feed one of the kittens” — this from Ellen. 

“And I’ll make all his clothes — I’ll wash and iron 
for him, too” — this from Jndith. 

'^Yes, do let ns keep him — do — do” — now they were 
all three talking clamoronsly at once — “please do, Mam- 
sie. We won’t let him be one speck of trouble to yon — 
we’ll give the white kitten and the gray kitten and — 
yes, the Maltese kitten, all away — indeed we will, Mam- 
sie, just as soon as ever we can find good Christmas 
homes for them. Please say that we may keep Pip.” 

Mamsie said nothing at all. She only looked at lit- 
tle Pip. They couldn’t keep him, of course they couldn’t. 
It was not to be considered for one moment — but what a 
dear, downy yellow head Pip had. 

It cost far more to keep a baby than it did to keep a 
kitten, or two kittens, or three kittens, or any number of 
kittens. Mamsie knew that, if the girls didn’t. No, she 
could not, she positively could not allow herself to think 
of it — but what round, wondering eyes Pip had — and so 
blue. No, she must not, she positively must not. 

So, steeling her heart as she invariably tried to steel 
it whenever a new waif of a kitten appeared, to have 


22 


The Story of a Christmas Eve 


its fate decided, she began quite firmly, “I am sure you 
vmuldn't have me” — when all at once it flashed upon her 
that it was on just such a night as this the inn had been 
too full to re-ceive another such little child — ‘^no, I am 
sure you wouldn’t have me,” she recommenced in a 
strangely altered voice — “turn a helpless baby out into 
the wet and storm of — of a Christmas Eve.” 

“O, Pip, you’re going to be my baby — no, mine — 
mme, I say;” again all three voices were raised at one 
and the same time, each striving to outbid the others. 
“O, Pip, weTl have to divide you — yes, snip you into 
two — no, into three parts with the scissors. How will 
you like that, Pip?” 

Apparently, Pip looked with no favor on this just 
division of him into three several parts; for suddenly 
and without warning he lifted up his voice in an an- 
guished and prolonged wail 

“He’s scared to death!” exclaimed Judith, hugging 
Pip in his entirety jealously to her breast. 

“It’s more likely that he’s hungry,” said the more 
experienced Mamsie. “Have we any milk, dear?” she 
asked of Ellen. 

“Only what we got for our breakfast, Mamsie.” 

“Bring that, then. We surely can go without our 
breakfast — on a Christmas morning — that a little hungry 
child may be fed.” 

She took the baby and sat down with him in her 
arms, hardly daring to think of the grave uncertainties 


23 


The Stairway to Happiness 


to which she had just committed herself. She only 
knew that one of those swift and searching tests that 
reach to the very root and groundwork of character had 
come to her and she had met it in the only way she 
could. It was as though she had been obliged to step off 
onto a frail raft, and without oar or any means of de- 
termining her course, trust herself to the open sea. And 
for the moment she was uplifted above fear. Even the 
fear of the uncertainties of the future touching herself 
and her helpless family which had been for weeks 
gnawing at her heart — that, too, had somehow, for the 
moment, vanished. A lightness of spirit, it might be 
from the very desperation of her case, had taken free 
and full possession of her. 

Pip had been very hungry. At each spoonful of sus- 
tenance offered, he stretched his mouth widely in 
the manner of a young fledgling impatient for a worm, 
till at length a gasping hiccough proclaimed him full to 
the point of spilling over. 

Then, leaving Pip to the girls’ care and bearing a 
candle, Mamsie went up stairs to bring from the laven- 
dered hiding place in an upper chamber the cherished 
things which had clothed her own baby daughters and 
that were now to become the possession of the waif so 
strangely drifted into her care. Only once did Mamsie 
falter in her task, and that was when, with full arms, 
she began to descend the stairway. On another Christ- 
mas Eve, just twenty-two years ago that very night and 


24 


The Story of a Christmas Eve 


at the self-same hour, she was placing a white-slippered 
foot on this same old stairway. A broad and beautiful 
thing of grace, its slender carved hand rail, rich with 
the mellow tones of age, rounding out into the full and 
gracious curve of the final downward step, it had been 
fitly called the ‘‘Stairway to Happiness'’ because of so 
many brides — two generations of them before Mamsie’s 
time— having come down its shining length. 

On this night of all nights, memories crowded thick 
and fast upon her, and for a moment it seemed as though 
she would sink upon the steps. 

Then it came to her that this was not, after all, the 
way by which any had crossed the mystic border line 
into life’s happiness. 

This stairway, shining and beautiful though it was, 
was but the outward and visible symbol of the real stair- 
way by which she, following after those long-vanished 
brides, and young Windom Wait, who had became her 
husband on that long ago night, had passed over into 
happiness. That stairway — the real stairway — they had 
together builded for themselves. Its base lay deep in 
self-surrender — in kindly thought — in tender deed — each 
for the other and for so much of the wide world as lay 
within their reach. Why, all the span of her husband’s 
short professional life had been one continuous mission 
of mercy, his very death from yellow fever caught while 
going freely about among its suffering victims, an act of 
devotion. 


25 


The Stairway to Happiness 


No, no, no, this was not that over which they had 
entered into happiness. That — the real stairway — was a 
thing of the spirit, mystic, imperishable, as are the 
things that belong to God. 


26 


The Story of a Christmas Eve 


HE baby had scarcely been put into its 
white slip of a night-gown when in walked 
Dr. Glidden, having come in person as 
had been his habit through all the happy, 
changeful years to bring the season’s 
greetings. 

It was a pretty sight to se(' the girls 
instantly cluster about the benign figure of this most re- 
vered of friends, one taking his cane, another his hat, 
and still another helping him out of his greatcoat. 

He listened in silence to the commonplace story of 
the baby. Such things were of daily occurrence. Babies 
were everywhere thrust upon the cold mercies of the 
world with as little care for what might befall them. 
Perhaps it was the night, perhaps it was the smallness 
and helpnessness of little Pip ; but, at any rate, some- 
thing seemed to have filled all their hearts with an in- 
explicable and overfiowing tenderness. 

Saying no word. Dr. Glidden took the little one and 
placed it on his knee, then very gently he' laid his hand 
upon its small, downy head. He, too, had quite forgot- 
ten that this was a foundling. It might have been the 
Christ, himself, for the welcome one and all had given 
him. 

They were still sitting there, a moved and silent 
group, when all at once a strange and thunderous knock- 
ing began that shook the old house to its oaken beams. 



27 


The Stairway to Happiness 


Mamsie again took up the lighted candle and went 
hurriedly through the wide, front hall out of which the 
stairway wound. Mamsie was unacquainted with fear, 
and yet she acknowledged to herself a sense of safety 
in the presence of Dr. Glidden wdthin. Reaching the 
door, she flung it widely open. 

It may have been that the group outside were not 
entirely prepared for the appearance of a slender woman 
with softly shining, unafraid eyes holding a candle aloft 
as she peered into the night. At any rate, there was a 
something hostile — a something suggestive of a chal- 
lenge — a threat, even, in the voice demanding to know 
if a certain Mrs. Wait lived in that house. 

am Mrs. Wait,’* — there was not a tremor in Mam- 
sie’s voice — “will you walk in, gentlemen?” 

One lone man — and not the one who had spoken — 
stepped swiftly forward into the solitary ray of light 
made by the candle’s wind-blown flame. Beyond him 
Mamsie could not, at the moment, see. The darkness, 
however, seemed palpitant with other living, breathing 
persons, how many she could not sense. 

One sidelong glance was sufficient to assure her that 
the man closely following her was young. There was 
about him a certain disorder of appearance as though he 
might have jumped into his clothes days ago and then 
forgotten ever to take them off. There was a strained 
look in his eyes, a haggardness in his face that, taken in 
connection with the telltale splotches of mud on his 


28 


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That—the real stairway — was a thing of the spirit. 


30 



The Story of a Christmas Eve 


furred overcoat, told of fast and furious riding — very 
possibly in a forward-leaning posture as though he 
w^ould outride the wind itself. 

It would have been a curiously interesting thing to 
know just which of the many conflicting emotions surg- 
ing through the man’s soul was at the moment upper- 
most when Mamsie’s light touch on the door-knob dis- 
closed the picture within. It was a very simple picture 
— just a benign and beautiful old man sitting holding a 
sleeping child in his arms, three young girls hovering 
over both. 

A hoarse and scarcely articulate sound that seemed 
to have the name of God in it escaped the man’s lips. 
In two swift strides he had crossed the room, and him- 
self stood over the whole group. 

‘‘The little chap’s all right, eh?” He spoke breath- 
lessly and with a swift, sliding inflection. His voice 
shook and his face had in it the paleness of death. 

“D’you say he’s all right, ma’am?” 

At the flrst sound of his voice all three of the girls 
sprang up and ranged themselves in front of the baby, 
shutting him clear away from the sight of this brusque 
interloper, whoever he might be. 

‘^If you’ve come after our baby,” cried Judith vehe- 
mently, '‘you may as well go away. We found him 
flrst and we mean to keep him.” 

“To keep him,” they all three exclaimed simulta- 
neously, “for our very own.” 


31 


The Statkway to Happiness 


‘‘Hush!” and Mamsie put out her hand for silence. 
No one heeded her. 

“He’s ours,” chanted the girls together again. They 
foniied a half circle, their short skirts stretched out as a 
screen, hostility in the eyes of them all. “Pip is ours 
and we mean to have him christened tomorrow, because 
he’s a Christmas baby.” 

“Christened?” the ghost of a smile, for just a bare 
second, wavered on the stranger’s lips — “christened — 
Pip?” 

“ Why, no, that’s what we are going to call him just 
among ourselves. His real name will be — will be — well, 
something quite different. 

“Is it— is it of any interest to you, sir, what we name 
our baby, now that we’ve adopted him?” 

“Well, yes — a little.” Again that suspicion of a 
smile just touched the man’s lips. 

“Are you — are you from the Foundlings’ Home!” 

“Sorry, but I can’t claim the honor.” 

“Are you any- any — relation of Pip’s?” 

“Only his father, that’s all.” 

And then a thing happened that only a skilled phy- 
sician could fully have understood. The stranger, with 
a backward fling of his head, burst suddenly and crazily 
into laughter. 

It was little wonder that they all stared at him. 
The revelation and the man’s behavior were alike as- 
toundiug. 


The Story of a Christmas Eve 


Judith was the first to recover speech. 

'‘Well,” she said, witheringly, "it doesn’t seem to 
me that anybody who would leave a dear little baby like 
this out in the cold and wet to starve and die deserves 
to be a father.” 

By way of answer, the stranger suddenly and almost 
roughly thrust her aside, thrust them ail aside. Stoop- 
ing, he lifted the sleeping baby and strained it to his 
heart. And as he stood holding it so, they saw that his 
eyes were wet. 

The baby stirred and uttered a faint cry. Gently, 
the father laid it back in Dr. Gliddon’s arms. 

"I’ll have to ask you to keep him a little longer,” 
he said, and this time his voice sounded controlled. 
"There’s further business to do tonight— some telegraph- 
ing, too, that I can entrust to no one but myself. 

"You won’t mind, madam” — he turned toward Mrs. 
Wait, who had scarcely yet recovered presence of mind 
--"you won’t mind if I throw a guard about your house, 
will you?” 

"Why, no, if you think it at all necessary, sir, but 
would it not be a hard-hearted person who would harm 
a little child?” 

"There are such in the world,” he made quick an- 
swer — "only four nights ago this boy was taken from his 
crib — stolen away — O, my God — I expected — ” 

Mamsie’s low cry interrupted him. 

"Has he a mother?” 


33 


The Stairway to Happiness 


she hasn’t drowned herself in her tears.” 

“O, then, sir, don’t stop here a minute. Throw 
twenty guards, if you wish, about my house, only do not 
keep her in suspense a moment longer. Tell her — O, 
tell her — for me— that not a hair of his head has been 
harmed.” 

“Stooping, she gathered the sleeping baby to her 
tender breast, and as she rose to face the father her own 
eyes were as full of tears as his had been. 

Dr. Gliddon rose at once. 

“I will go with you,” he said with grave courtesy; 
you may require a friend’s aid.” 

And together, they passed out into the night. 


B4 


The Story of a Christmas Eve 


OON the storm, which had been all day 
gathering, broke with sullen fury. The 
wind increased in violence, and the long 
withheld rain poured in a succession of 
slanting sheets broadside of the old house 
stoutly resisting its beating pressure. 
The stars faintly showing in the uncer- 
tain earlier evening had all been blotted 
out of the sky, and, except for the recurrent flashes of 
lightning in the riven sky, the outside world seemed but 
a mass of trembling blackness fllled with a multiplie^d 
roar as of something alive and moving from far up the 
valley. 

The girls huddled on the floor drew closer about their 
mother holding the sleeping baby on her lap. They 
were quite alone, as all knew, but there were strange 
noises breaking every now and then in the dim and silent 
chambers of the upper regions of the house as though 
the dead and vanished life up there were awaking and 
endeavoring to join in the universal tumult. 

Hemmed in, surrounded, all but engulfed, it seemed 
to Mamsie's aroused consciousness that the rise of an- 
other hostile wave would surely sweep her and all be- 
longing to her as driftwood before it, she knew not 
where. 

Of them all, little Pip alone was undisturbed. In 
the safe shelter of Mamsie’s encircling arms he slept 
peacefully on, his breath now and again coming in little 



35 


The Stairway to Happiness 


swift catches, his warm mouth touched at times by a 
fleeting smile, as though he had found a sweet security 
in the port of dreams. 

A paleness came into Mamsie’s cheek and a tremu- 
lousness to her lips. The storm, all at once, had taken 
on terrifying signiflcance. In its all-encompassing might 
it was like unto that which was ruthlessly sweeping- 
down upon her. At last, doubt and despair had pounced 
upon her — she Avas afraid ! 

With an inward, anguished cry for help, when no 
help was at hand, she struggled to her feet, the baby 
still in her arms. 

'‘O, don’t leave us, Mamsie,” wailed the girls to- 
gether, laying restraining hands upon her. 

‘"Just a moment, dears; I — I think I hear some one 
at the back trying to And the way in, and we must not 
turn any shelterless away on a night like this.” 

Thrusting Pip into Judith’s embrace, she slii>ped 
away from their hold. It was only old Rastus, who had 
made his way through the night and the storm to see if 
all was right with his beloved family. There ivas some- 
thing warm and comforting in the old man’s presence. 
His father had served Mamsie’s grandfather. In his 
faithfulness and devotion to her and hers, Rastus repre- 
sented the stability that had seemed to characterize the 
old order. She saw that he w^as drenched from head to 
foot, the water streaming from the ragged cap in his 
trembling old hand, and in her sudden solicitude for his 


The Story op a Christmas Eve 


comfort she almost forgot the storm. Rastiis must have 
dry things to put on, and she went to fetch them. But he 
was strangely oblivious to his own condition. He didn’t 
seem to be aware that his garments were soaked through. 
Something of infinitely more importance lay heavily 
upon his mind. '‘Whut you all goin’ to hev foh yo din- 
nah tomorrow?” he asked in a troubled voice. 

don’t know,” said Mamsie simply, with » sudden, 
swift recollection of a multitude fed once upoii a barley 
loaf and a few small fishes. 

‘‘Hit’s mighty cur’s to ast folks to dinnah an’ not 
know how they’s to be fed,” the old man said with a 
shake of his gray head, expressive of his own deep mis- 
givings. 

“Yes, isn’t it,” and she tried to force a smile, “but 
that is what we appear to have done.” 

Before she had ceased speaking, Dr. Gliddon burst 
in through the front door. He, too, brought in with him 
a breath of the storm, but unlike Bastus, he was dry. 
Some provident hand had seen to his protection. A 
majestic looking old man he seemed under the soft, re- 
vealing light from the old hall chandelier which had 
been set dimly burning, even taller and broader than 
before. 

Mrs. Wait fiew to his side. 

“Sallie,” he said tranquilly, before she had time to 
speak, “the gentleman will be back presently to remain 
overnight, possibly through Christmas, with you — he 
and the child. 


37 


The Stairway to Happiness 


“There’s been a washout somewhere up through the 
mountain road and the wires are down. They are re- 
laying the message to the mother by courier, and say 
they will get it through before morning, so that her anx- 
iety will shortly be allayed. 

“If you would like to have me, Sallie, I also will re- 
main with you overnight. I see Rastus out there. Have 
him light up the Christmas fires, Sallie, as he used in 
the old days — tell him to pile on the wood, that there 
may be a cheerful glow everywhere, upstairs and down. 

“This is such a beautiful old house, Sallie — so mel- 
lowed by time — so redolent of memories fine and sweet” 
— the old man’s gaze wandered about a moment, then 
fastened on the stairway — the beautiful soaring stair- 
way disappearing in the obscurity of the shadows above, 
much as human life vanishes at last in the mysteries of 
the infinite — “and yet,” he continued slowly and medi- 
tatively, “you could not have kept the old place six 
months longer.” 

“I know,” she said with quivering lips and in so low 
a whisper that he did not hear it, although he somehow 
sensed the meaning of it. 

“And knowing all that, you could yet take a little 
child in?” 

“I couldn’t turn one away.” 

“No, turning folks away from your door is a thing 
you have never yet learned.” He placed his hands in 
fatherly affection on the shoulders of the woman he had 


38 


The Story of a Christmas Eve 


held as a child upon his knee. ‘‘If you had, things 
might have turned out to be vastly different both for 
you and for the child. It would have died — perished in 
the storm — and there would have been an unassuageable 
grief in a very grand home tonight. 

“You did not know that you were saving the life of 
what is perhaps the richest baby in all the land — you did 
not know that — ” 

“Impossible,’’ cried Mamsie — “you are dreaming.” 

“Dreaming, am I?” — the old man laughed softly as 
he thrust something shining and leathery into her hand. 

“And is that a dream, too? Within it is the price, 
a gang of beasts hunted to their lair thought to place on 
a baby’s little life, and since they failed to secure it, it 
falls to you. There is enough in there to save your home 
— to secure your future — to — ” 

“Why — why — Sallie, what are you crying for?” 



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